Lil Love Note to Samara
by Xengria
Summary: A little fix-it fic after Mass Effect's writers crushed my poor Samara-romancing Shepard's heart.


***per your request desertredwolf X'D. I said it was a guilty pleasure, not a good read. **

"In another life . . . in another time." Samara's voice trailed off as she gazed through me. Her breath that had painted my lips for those few tense seconds faded away as she dropped her hands and stepped back.

My heart, so recently bared, throbbed painfully into several pieces.

" Samara -"

"Please, Shepard. Don't"

I closed my eyes and pulled in a lungful of air.

This woman – no. This asari. . .. Her life had been full of beauty, and then plagued for centuries by tragedy. Through our year of fealty, we moved from wary respect to subtle camaraderie, to quiet conversations by starlight on the observatory. We had spoken of past lives and deaths.

Through these conversations and silences, we grew closer. I thought, hoped against all logic, that this righteous Justicar shared my growing feelings.

The fleeting memory of her eyes, mouth, heart inches from mine wove through my mind. Her hand on my cheek . . . I had hoped for the impossible.

I pulled myself gently from her magnetism, and said as steadily as I could, "I understand, Samara. Please know that I care deeply for you. I would still like to remain friends."

She nodded, her eyes starting to color black as she drifted into meditation. "Please, Shepard."

The elevator doors hummed open as I walked myself, eyes stinging, into my cabin.

….

The next day passed beatifically without emergency. The crew and specialists followed my assigned patrols, and either the nearly omniscient Miranda was heading people off before they reached my cabin, or the ship and crew were running themselves.

"God bless Miranda." I groaned.

My eyes were scratchy and gummy; my sinuses were congested, and my hair was sticking up in every direction.

Despite my stupidity, at least I'd had the "good sense" to impulsively confess my feelings to Samara the night preceding mandatory leave day.

Kelly Chambers organized the crew's vacation days, and enforced them with a terrifying, perhaps because so unexpected, ferocity.

The water from the sink splashed against my eyes, cooling their irritation.

I gently knocked my dripping wet face against the hanging towel. It softened the wall's impact with my forehead as I rhythmically chanted, "You are Commander Fucking Shepard, and you will _pull_ yourself fucking together right the fuck now."

I pulled my hair into a neat braid, slipped on some casual but serviceable clothing, and began meticulously cleaning my spotless armor.

…..

When the ship's day cycle was reaching evening, my cabin door chimed.

"Enter!" I called. Miranda didn't normally make calls at my cabin, so I was putting my money on Kelly, the Iron Maiden of Weekends.

I set the Predator down and wiped my hands on a towel before heading to the door. I pushed the unlocking permission and turned as it opened.

"Shepard."

_Oh. OH FUCK._

I forced my mouth to form a coherent response.

"Samara." Saying her name brought a small smile to my face despite yesterday's conversation.

"May I come in?"

"Oh! Of course. Please." I stepped back, allowing her to entry, and the doors clicked shut behind her.

"Shepard. . .." Her eyes drifted over my partially assembled gear. "Over the years, centuries, I have learned that words have many lives, many faces. Actions, though . . . they stay with us unflinching. Undeniable. Actions. . .." She trailed off, and her eyes met mine.

_Umm, what?_

Then, she gently grasped my shoulders and pushed me slowly until my back grazed the wall.

I closed my eyes, heart thudding in my ears as I felt her cheek brush mine, then her nose, then - blessed goddess – her lips on mine, her fingers stroking my cheeks.

My brain was still asking if this was some sick joke of a dream when one of her hands grasped mine and slid it up to the nape of her neck, then to the base of her crest. She sighed into my mouth as my fingers cradled her head.

_Holy shit. This is real._ Samara was here. Samara was in my cabin, and she was kissing me, and I was kissing her back.

I felt the words she wasn't saying. I felt the warmth, and the heat, and the closeness.

"Do you understand, siame?"

"Yes."

Then she took me, but with the slow, magnificent tenacity, strength, and beauty of a wave rolling forth from the depths of the sea. She held me in my quaking, and her warmth rolled over me, her tears sprinkling onto my face as she kissed me. Through the meld, I saw her daughters, her wife, her fears, her betrayals, her ruthlessness, and tenderness. In that sea we drowned and resurrected until I could feel the warm sun against our faces as we basked in the warm shallows.

Her lips traced the nape of my neck as we drifted asleep, her body cradling mine, her arms wrapped around me, mine upon hers, as the warmth of our bodies lulled us to sleep.


End file.
